Magic, Druids, Lovers, and Spies
by desertredwolf
Summary: A small collection of assorted oneshots, some of which were written for Tiggerific Times at The Golden Snitch. Happy birthday, Tiggs! Oh, it's not your birthday right now? Well, a very merry unbirthday to you, Tiggs! [A collection of gift! fics: unrelated oneshots & drabbles.]
1. Equal Exchange

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All rights go to respective owners.**

* * *

 **Equal Exchange**

' _All magic has a price. And you, High Priestess and Queen of Avalon, are now being called upon to pay your debts. Even you cannot escape Fate and its plans for you. You will soon learn what I mean.'_

That little tidbit of information — _more like a prophecy_ , a little voice in the back of her head nagged — had been given to Morgana by a three-eyed Raven in the early spring. Time passed without any action seeming to follow the ominous foretelling. And as crimson and gold leaves swirled around her, she had thought she could have avoided her Fate.

Apparently she was wrong. How … inconvenient.

Morgana sighed in frustration. On countless occasions, she had defeated her greatest enemies and ultimately won her rightful place on the Isle of the Blessed. She was the most powerful sorceress to walk this earth! And _now_ , of all times, she was forced to pay the price? She was above that!

 _Stupid, bloody magic._

She growled, her irritation boiling just beneath the surface. The Raven could only have meant, well … _this_ when it was talking about cost and Fate. She gazed dispassionately down at the man — a Camelot knight, if the lion insignia on his cloak was anything to go by — lying on the ground before her. He was unconscious, bloodied, and most likely going to die from his wounds; everything she would typically hope for and wish upon the lackeys of her greatest foe.

' _You will heal him, Morgana of Avalon.'_ A voice, one she quickly identified as the Raven, spoke softly into her mind.

"Or I could let him die from his injuries," she snapped out loud. The chilled autumn breeze whipped and twisted her hair. "I could even help him along … after all, it would be cruel to let him suffer."

' _You will heal him, Morgana,'_ the Raven chided, _'and begin to balance the scales of light and darkness in your life.'_

Grumbling about useless birds that had high opinions of themselves, she pulled out her cypress wand and levitated the knight. Her home — more of a hideout really, but it was all she had — was not far from where she was now. She rolled her eyes and began to trek through the woods.

The knight may have hit a few trees along the way.

On accident, of course.

.oOo.

Groaning, Tristan opened his eyes. The first thing that he saw was a thatched roof, etched with what appeared to be runes. He groaned. His head _hurt_. What had happened to him? The last thing he remember was being attacked by a Questing Beast, while on his hunt for—

 _Oh no!_

His eyes widened in panic. Morgana. He had been hunting Morgana on the King's orders. Bolting upright, he almost collapsed back in pain. Tristan felt his side and winced. It was probably a broken rib. Now he had no chance against—

"Petrificus Totalus."

The incantation was said lazily, almost as if it was an afterthought. Tristan felt his limbs snap to his side; his body was forced into a plank position. He fell back on the bed, which he absentmindedly noted was incredibly soft. His heart pounded in fear as the Darkest sorceress in history came into view.

"Hello."

Her voice was soft, not at all what he was expecting. Tristan internally frowned. Had she charmed him somehow to be more at ease around him? Or was she really this kind?

"I am going to modify the spell, so that you may speak. Alright?"

She raised what Tristan assumed was her wand and she waved it over him, muttering under her breath. He felt the muscles from his shoulders up relax — although, he still couldn't lift his arms.

"What did you do to me, witch?" he demanded.

"I incapacitated you. Obviously," she responded. It looked like she was trying to refrain from rolling her eyes. "I cannot have you undoing all of my hard work."

"Like I said," Tristan snarled, "what did you do!"

Okay, now she actually rolled her eyes. "I'm healing you. Here, eat this." She lifted a bowl to his mouth.

"What is it?"

"Soup."

He glared at her suspiciously. "What did you put in it?" he questioned.

"Rabbit."

"And?" he pressed.

"Carrots. Look, are you going to eat this or not?" she snapped. He studied her intently, trying to decided if she was going to poison him or not. Deciding it was worth the risk — and he found that he was starving — he opened his mouth and allowed her to feed him.

"So," he ventured after a few tense minutes, "are you a Healer now or something?"

"Yes. Now shut up and finish your soup."

* * *

Prompt ( _Tiggerific Times — The Golden Snitch_ ): (occupation) Healer

 **Word count (not including title and author's notes): 781**

 **Name:** Dessie / **School:** Castelobruxo / **House:** South

Total Points: 5


	2. Oh Captain! My Captain!

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All rights go to respective owners.**

* * *

 **Oh Captain! My Captain!**

Minerva stood her ground between the irate Death Eater and Ravenclaw students. She wasn't going to let anything happen to them. Not on her watch. Feeling the spit hit her face, she wiped it off — only to then see Harry toss aside his invisibility cloak.

 _Oh, no._

He snarled something at the Death Eater — Minerva wasn't sure what, as her mind was still in shock — before shouting an unthinkable curse at Amycus.

"Crucio!"

She watched as the Cruciatus Curse nailed Amycus in the chest. He was blasted off his feet and was writhing in pain as he sailed through the air. While she was appropriately horrified at the situation, the analytical part of her mind noted that the Curse was cast quite effectively. And Harry seemed to know it, if the look on his face was anything to judge.

The Death Eater flew away from her and crashed into a bookcase, where he fell unconscious. Minerva looked back at Harry. His gaze was cold, his voice unyielding as he spoke to the lifeless Carrow, and she couldn't help but wonder if he had strayed down a path from which he could never return.

 _One that you helped place him on_ , her conscience reminded her.

Her heart beat a bit harder and more painfully at the thought. She remembered the moment Dumbledore had set Harry, just a tiny one-year-old, on the doorstep of those vile Dursleys. She had forced herself to turn away then; the first of many mistakes over the years in regards to Harry Potter.

She refused to let this be another one.

"Clear the room," Minerva commanded. Her gaze flickered around the room, noting that everyone was frozen in shock. "Clear. The. Room. You know what this is the beginning of. Get the younger students out _now_."

No one argued with that tone. The Ravenclaw prefects jumped into action, herding the younger students to the dorms. Minerva distinctly heard them giving orders and instructions of what to bring with them.

"Potter," she acknowledged, her Scottish accent thicker than usual. He looked up and all she saw were the faces of the past. James' unruly hair that matched his Marauder personality; Lily's piercing emerald eyes that belied wisdom beyond her years.

"Professor," he said, nodding in reply, "are you okay?"

She focused on her Lion and gave him a stern look; one that she tried to put everything into, so that he would understand.

That she didn't approve of his methods.

That she didn't deserve his loyalty.

That she wished things could have been different.

That no matter his mistakes, he was ultimately a good person.

That she was sorry.

And that she was so very _proud_ of him.

Harry straightened slightly under her tense gaze, while she worked out a response to his question. There were definitely aspects of James and Lily in his features, but there was something patently _Harry_ there, too. A moment passed and then she nodded. Minerva watched as relief flooded his features.

"I'm here," she responded, inside a rolling sea of emotions. "What do you need?"

Harry launched into a quick discussion about dangerous artifacts that needed to be found, in order for You-Know— _Voldemort_ to be killed. Before they parted ways, she called him back.

"Wait!" He stopped at the sound of her voice and turned around, his features focused. She took a breath. "It's good to see you … Harry."

Minerva knew that until the day she died — which in reality could be in the next few hours — she would cherish the smile she received from Harry Potter. She knew in that moment that was the right thing to say to him.

He snapped to attention and saluted her, of all things.

"You too, Professor."

* * *

Prompt ( _Tiggerific Times — The Golden Snitch_ ): (character) Minerva McGonagall

 **Word count (not including title and author's notes): 624**

 **Name:** Dessie / **School:** Castelobruxo / **House:** South

Total Points: 10


	3. The Greatest Con in History

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or Anastasia (from which this story is inspired). All rights go to respective owners.**

* * *

 **The Biggest Con in History**

"Adrian, I can't do this."

Her voice was soft, no louder than a whisper, but it carried quite clearly in the small dressing room. Adrian slowly looked up and studied her in the mirror. She was holding her stomach and her eyes were tightly shut. Her forest green ball gown elegantly hugged her curves. Despite her anxiety, Adrian thought she had never looked more beautiful than in that moment.

He crossed the room in a few quick strides. Standing behind her, he wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. He pressed his cheek into her soft, blonde curls and thought hazily that he might be in heaven, if not for the Pureblood Death Eaters waiting in the ballroom below.

"You can, love," he whispered. "We've worked so hard to get here. You're going to be perfect."

She opened her eyes and met his in the reflection. Her electric blue eyes stole his breath; he still wasn't used to seeing them since they had been changed from chocolate brown earlier that day. "I don't feel like myself," she responded. "I miss my brown hair."

"You're not meant to feel like you," Adrian instructed. "You're meant to—"

"Don't," Hermione warned. "Please don't finish that sentence. Just … tell me the plan again."

"You are Anna Azarova," Adrian replied softly. "Adopted daughter of a small Russian Pureblood family, who were all killed in a terrible accident seven years ago. You traveled to Europe where you discovered you were actually the long lost heir of the Fawley family, the only dormant Sacred Twenty-Eight family. We'll use your novelty and new political connections to find weakness in the regime."

"And we do this to save Harry and Ron?" Hermione asked, her voice small and uncertain.

Adrian brushed back a stray curl in her hair. He had to choose his words carefully. This was a moment that she would remember. It might even make the difference between success and failure.

"We will save Harry and Ron," he said with as much conviction as possible. Adrian smiled despite himself. He sounded like a Gryffindor. "But we do this to save everyone. We play the long game and change everything. I know I chose the wrong side before and … Hermione, I'm so sorry. I never thought winning would bring this … this, living _hell_."

She turned around and met his gaze. He tried to convey all of his feelings, especially for her, in that look. Hermione reached up and gently cupped his cheeks.

"And it's different now?" she whispered. He felt his heart beat wildly at the sound of her voice.

Finally, a question he could confidently answer.

"Everything is different now."

She smiled at him and he felt as if he could take on the world. _I'm going to have to do just that,_ he thought wryly. Adrian suddenly realized they were very close. He quickly closed the distance and captured her lips in a kiss. She pulled him closer, but he reluctantly pulled away after a minute.

"We have to get going," he murmured.

"Right," she replied breathlessly. "Let's go." Adrian held out his arm, which Hermione graciously accepted.

"Shall we go start a Slytherin-styled revolution, Lady Fawley?" he asked, a teasing edge to his voice. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I suppose our first one didn't work out too well," she responded dryly.

"You hold a Gryffindor-styled revolution—" Adrian began. Hermione cracked a small smile.

"—and this is the price you pay," she finished. "You have to do it all over again."

* * *

Prompt ( _Tiggerific Times — The Golden Snitch_ ): (character) Adrian Pucey

 **Word count (not including title and author's notes): 573**

 **Name:** Dessie / **School:** Castelobruxo / **House:** South

Total Points: 15


	4. The Last Plan is Often the Strangest

**Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All rights go to respective owners.**

* * *

 **The Last Plan is Often the Strangest**

' _Meow!'_

Sirius sat on the dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack in front of a mangy ginger cat. He had been trying to ask it for help over the course of the past four hours and had been slowly losing his mind. The cat was his last shot. If this didn't work, he didn't know what else to try. Placing his head in his hands, he groaned in frustration.

The cat looked up at Sirius and tilted its head. It _seemed_ more intelligent than it was letting on. After all, it had been following him for days, while he was human and in his animagus form. But his grand plan of sending his godson a birthday present was rapidly falling apart at the seams. It shouldn't be this hard! He knew he was a wanted mass murderer and an escaped convict, but still…

From the few things he had observed while in Little Whinging, Harry's relatives did not treat him well. He knew that he hadn't done right by Harry either, but he was trying to make up for it. Harry deserved happiness.

The simple task of getting him a birthday present was proving to be more than a little difficult.

"Okay, cat. I need you to listen close. See this here?" In one hand, Sirius held up a Quality Quidditch Supplies' mail order form. A picture of a Firebolt was circled in red ink. The other hand grasped a sealed letter to Gringotts. He had authorized money to be removed from his account for this transaction.

' _Meow.'_ The cat idly licked its front paws. Sirius decided to take that as a positive response.

"Great," he said in a strained voice. "I need you to take this," he shook the order form in his hand, "to Qua-li-ty Quid-ditch Sup-plies." Sirius over-pronounced the words, hoping that would help the message sink in.

' _Meow.'_

"This letter," he held up the sealed parchment in his other hand, "needs to go to Gringotts. Okay?"

The cat stared blankly up at him.

"Okay?" Sirius repeated. He felt his nerves fraying past the point of repair with every second.

' _Meow!'_

The cat flopped over on its belly and wriggled its paws in the air. It apparently wanted belly rubs. Sirius already had scrapes on his hands and knew better than to try his luck. He fell back onto the grimy ground and tried not to cry.

"I'm sorry," Sirius said. "I'm not normally like this. Well, I'm crazy, but not like _crazy_ crazy. I'll just … think of something else."

But nothing else was going to work. The Firebolt had been the perfect gift. The best way he could say both 'Happy Birthday' and "I'm so sorry for the last thirteen years." He felt tears begin to well up in his eyes, when all of a sudden the cat got up and pattered over to his side.

' _Meow.'_

The cat was right beside his head and staring at him intently. All Sirius could do was nod his head sagely in response.

"Meow," Sirius replied.

The cat placed a paw on his forehead and held it there for a moment. Just as it was starting to get weird for Sirius, the cat picked up the letter and form in its mouth and trotted away.

"What an odd cat," he remarked, before promptly falling asleep.

.oOo.

 _The next morning at Gringotts Bank…_

Griphook reached out and took the offered letter. He broke the seal and read it, his eyebrows raising at the contents. Upon finishing the missive, he looked up and asked the customer,

"Will that be all?"

' _Meow.'_

The cat jumped off his teller desk and ran out the front door. Griphook pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed.

It was too early for the day to be that strange.

* * *

Prompt ( _Tiggerific Times — The Golden Snitch_ ): (character) Crookshanks

 **Word count (not including title and author's notes): 633**

 **Name:** Dessie / **School:** Castelobruxo / **House:** South

Total Points: 20


End file.
